by Howe, Cheryl
Cole shifted. Even in Ricochet’s relaxed position, he forced the hair on the back of Braddock’s neck to rise.
After glancing around the camp either for help or someone else to take his prisoner to, Cole finally gave up and cleared his throat. “This one says he’s Lincoln Knox.”
Ricochet pushed the stiff leather hat off his face and gazed at Braddock. “What entrance did he come in?”
“South. The one you told me to guard.”
“Why didn’t you shoot him?”
Braddock steeled himself against a rush of anger. Corey had failed to mention a second entrance. Either the kid purposely lied to him, or Mulcahy was planning on getting rid of Corey from the beginning. Both excuses seemed plausible.
“He broke out of the Tombstone jail. Wants a place to hide.”
Ricochet didn’t alter his bored expression. “I don’t give a shit. Take him out and shoot him. Your orders are to shoot anyone who gets near the south entrance. Now do it, boy.”
Cole lowered his rifle. Luckily for Braddock, Cole wasn’t taken with the idea. “But he’s an outlaw. He wants a place—”
“He’s seen the hideout. Now, that don’t make it a hideout anymore.” Ricochet eased his finger around the rifle’s trigger and maneuvered the barrel to point at Cole. “If you don’t want me to take you with him, you’ll take him out and shoot him. Away from the camp, Cole. Mulcahy’s trying to sleep.”
Cole stood as if his feet had sunk into the dry sand. He let out his breath. “Come on,” he finally mumbled to Braddock.
Braddock held his ground. “Listen here, mister, I’ve been four days in the desert to get here. I’m not going to let you shoot me.”
“What the hell you going to do about it?” Ricochet must have sensed something dangerous in Braddock, because he sat up and steadied his rifle with his other hand.
Braddock tugged at his bindings one more time. They had come loose, but not enough to get his hands free. Even if he could, he had let Cole take his guns, and his rifle remained strapped to Lucky’s saddle. He had made it through worse situations, he reminded himself, though he couldn’t recall how.
“Let’s just say I know things. And they’re going to die with me if you shoot me.”
Ricochet got to his feet as fluidly as a snake slithering up a tree. His sneer assured Braddock that he’d be glad to do what Cole hesitated to. “There ain’t nothing I need to know.”
“Not even how to find Corey Sullivan?”
Ricochet’s sneer drooped. “He send you here?”
Braddock smiled. “You want to find out, you better untie me and give me back my guns.”
Ricochet grabbed his shirt and tried to shake him, but Braddock towered over the little weasel. Overpowering Braddock with brute force wasn’t going to happen, even if his arms were tied behind his back.
Realizing the same thing, Ricochet gave Braddock a hard shove, which he absorbed easily. Ricochet’s face turned as red as the dirt at their feet. He jabbed his finger in Braddock’s face.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Sullivan, boy, even if I have to peel the skin off your hide to get the information out of you.”
If he hadn’t sensed it already, the way Cole inched away warned Braddock that Ricochet wasn’t known for idle threats. Braddock didn’t flinch under the outlaw’s furious stare.
“Cole! Get your ass over here and take this smart ass and tie him down. We’ll see how fast we can wipe that smug look off his face.”
One quick, stabbing glance from Ricochet convinced Cole to grip Braddock’s arm.
Braddock easily jerked from Cole’s grasp. Though he was younger and good-sized, Cole had no enthusiasm for the job. Braddock noted that other gazes had turned to the confrontation, but no one moved to do anything about it.
Cole made another weak attempt to restrain Braddock, who swung away from him.
“Stay out of this, Cole, or I’ll have to kill you too,” warned Braddock.
“It don’t matter. Either you’re gonna do it or he’s gonna do it.” Cole approached one more time but jumped out of the way when Braddock tried to stab him with his elbow.
From the comer of his eye, Braddock caught Ricochet lunging for him. He twisted a quarter turn, then planted the sole of his boot firmly in the center of the man’s chest. He pushed out, sending Ricochet flying into the wooden shack. True to his name, the outlaw bounced off the wall and landed hard on his knees.
“You’re going to die, boy.” Eyes bulging and practically foaming at the mouth, Ricochet retrieved his rifle without ever taking his rabid glare off Braddock.
“You’ll never find Sullivan if you kill me,” Braddock snapped. It was his best defense.
“To hell with Sullivan.” Ricochet brought the rifle to his shoulder and took aim squarely at the center of Braddock’s chest.
With a desperate tug that felt like it took most of the skin from his wrists, Braddock yanked at his bonds. He finally felt them loosen. Unfortunately, it didn’t do him a damn bit of good. He could do nothing but stare down the barrel of Ricochet’s rifle.
A smile curved the outlaw’s lips.
“Ricochet. Stop.”
Braddock tore his gaze away from the weapon’s deadly snout to find the owner of the commanding voice. A red-haired man leaned on the shack’s door frame. To hold back the blanket that served as a door required all his effort. Sweat beaded his forehead. A torn and bloody shirt was draped over his shoulders. His pants were pulled over his hips but were only partially buttoned. A dirty bandage wound around his chest, and his arm was in a sling. The two words he had spoken must have worn him out, because all he could do was pant.
Cole rushed to his side. “Are you all right, Rowen? You feeling better?” His voice was hopeful despite the obvious.
Braddock glanced back to Ricochet. He had lowered the rifle, but he still looked mad enough to kill.
“Didn’t you hear me yelling at you to stop?” Mulcahy wheezed between his words.
“I didn’t hear nothing,” said Cole.
“He’s a smartass,” answered Ricochet reluctantly, his seething glare trained on Braddock.
Mulcahy gripped the door frame. Cole wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. Despite his weakness, Mulcahy brushed him away. “Just get me a chair.”
Cole disappeared into the shelter while Mulcahy studied Braddock.
Braddock met his gaze straight on. The steely blue eyes Braddock remembered had dimmed. Even the vibrant red of his hair had faded. Braddock looked him over, noticing the swollen red fingers sticking from the sling. They were infected. He’d lose the arm, if he survived at all. Corey hadn’t lied about that.
“I know you from somewhere,” said Mulcahy.
Cole returned with an army issue folding chair. He popped the collapsible legs open and helped Mulcahy ease onto the canvas seat.
Braddock maintained an outward calm while his mind scrambled for his next lie. He had never expected Mulcahy to recognize him. His hair was longer, the color altered by the sun. He had let his beard grow, and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth caused by a permanent frown were deep enough to make even his parents not know him. He wasn’t the same man Mulcahy had briefly served under. Braddock barely recognized himself as that man.
“He escaped from Tombstone jail. I read it in the papers,” supplied Cole. Ricochet hovered to the left of Mulcahy’s chair, breathing fire through his flared nostrils.
Mulcahy let Cole wipe the sweat from his brow with a red bandanna he’d untied from around his neck.
“No. It was during the war. Whose side were you on?” Braddock shrugged. “Both, when it suited me.”
Mulcahy grinned. “I hear you. Damn stupid war that solved nothing.”
Braddock nodded, not having to lie about his agreement. He picked at the frayed ropes still wound around his right hand, then deliberately dropped his broken bonds to the ground.
Mulcahy’s sharp gaze showed he didn’t miss the significance. “
Corey send you here?”
Braddock chose his words carefully. Mulcahy and his men teetered on a sharp edge. Whether they’d be shoved over seemed to have everything to do with Corey. Association with him could save Braddock’s life or get him killed.
“You couldn’t say Sullivan sent me, but he told me how to get here.”
“That little son of a bitch. I’m going to rip his heart out when I get my hands on him.” Ricochet stomped around in a complete circle.
Mulcahy nodded and smiled. “In exchange for what? Corey doesn’t do things for no reason.”
Braddock hesitated, not liking Mulcahy’s answer, because he recognized the truth in his words. Suddenly Braddock felt like a pawn.
“Protection. He had a deputy marshal on his ass, and he doesn’t cover his trail too good. I took care of the law for him.” The taste of the confession was unexpectedly bitter on his lips.
“Son of a bitch,” repeated Ricochet, his eyes bulging to maximum capacity. He was literally slobbering. “If he gets himself strung up…”
Mulcahy held up his hand, a simple gesture that seemed to take all his strength, but was effective enough to silence his crony. “Where’s Corey?”
“My guns,” Braddock demanded in his steadiest, coldest voice.
Mulcahy closed his eyes while he rasped his next breath. He was fading fast. “Give the man his guns.”
Cole complied while Ricochet burned a hole through his every move. Braddock meticulously checked the weapons for ammunition. “Saw him last near Arriba.”
Braddock silently vowed never to let Lorelei go near the ranch again.
“He went back to his ranch. Jesus, that boy is stupid.”
“Smart enough to fool you, Rowen,” sneered Ricochet.
“He fooled us all, Ricochet. Even you,” Cole spoke up. For the first time, Ricochet’s withering glare didn’t cower Cole.
“It’s all right, Cole. I deserve it.” Mulcahy turned to Braddock. “Got him off an orphan train a few years back. He’s too loyal for his own good.”
Mulcahy’s admission of guilt effectively simmered the animosity boiling over from Ricochet. Braddock had to admit he seemed to be a good leader, even if he’d been on the wrong side. Not that Braddock knew what the right side was. The hatred he should feel for the sneaky trick that stole Jay’s legs was suddenly hard to muster. Instead of an invalid wasting in a wheelchair, he pictured the laughing father of four with one on the way.
At the moment, Rowen Mulcahy appeared worse off than Jay. A slow death while holed up in a dirty shack couldn’t have been more fitting. Maybe life had given him what he deserved without Braddock’s needing to have a damn thing to do with it. But for some reason he felt sorry for Mulcahy. Maybe because he saw a glimpse of the end he himself had been heading for before he’d met Lorelei.
Unfortunately, now was not the time to lay down his guns and turn over a peace-loving leaf. He gripped the smooth handles of his Smith & Wessons and his confidence soared. This was the job he’d set out to do, and he planned to do it. Though he’d be bringing in a dead Mulcahy rather than a live one. Braddock would be surprised if the outlaw survived the night. Now the only problem was the gold.
“Why did you come here?” Mulcahy looked Braddock straight in the eye.
“Heard you were shorthanded. Figured you could afford to pay a fast gun.”
All three men stared at him without expression. Finally a gasp escaped Mulcahy’s throat. Braddock feared Mulcahy had drawn his last breath. But before Braddock could move toward him, a burst of laughter ripped from deep in Mulcahy’s belly, halting Braddock’s rescue attempt. Even the fit of coughing that followed, staining his lips with pink-tinged spittle, couldn’t wipe away his smile.
“Corey tell you that?”
“Well…” Braddock was lost for the right answer. “Yeah.” This time even Ricochet grinned.
“You took care of the marshal for him, and then he sent you up here—wrong entrance, mind you—for your big reward?”
Braddock genuinely frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this one bit. “Something like that.”
Mulcahy shook his head. “Son, I guess you’re right where you’re supposed to be. Up here with the fools. What did I tell you about a fool and his money, Cole?”
“Soon parted.” The boyish grin that tugged at the young man’s lips showed he was still firmly in his teens.
Braddock didn’t get the joke, but he was starting to figure out it was on him. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Mulcahy’s grin faded into a defeated slump of his shoulders. “Sullivan’s got the gold from the robbery. All of it.”
***
With only the stars to guide him, Braddock wended his way down the dark canyon with more ease than when he had arrived. A singular thought lit his way. Find Corey Sullivan.
The night was moonless but clear, allowing the stars to blaze like a thousand white suns. He didn’t have to worry about guards this time. Ricochet’s stare burned into his back as he watched Braddock go, but they thought him more fool than threat. Braddock had to agree. After they had dropped their little mortar about Sullivan having the gold, Braddock swore a blue streak that gave even Ricochet a few new words for his vocabulary. Of course, they all enjoyed his rage, laughing even harder. When Braddock vowed to find the little bastard, they believed him. He’d meant it, too. Never meant anything more in his life.
If Corey had pulled the wool over the eyes of Mulcahy and his gang, he had put a blindfold on Braddock and spun him around in a circle. Had he planned the whole thing, all the way down to Braddock getting Langston off his trail, then finding him a safe haven? Hell, Braddock had gone so far as to promise to convince the law Corey was dead so he could escape completely. Son of a bitch. All the while, the boy had had the gold. Braddock had made it so damn easy for him. And so Corey could sleep better at night, he’d rushed up Specter Canyon to get himself killed.
Braddock hugged the wall at the canyon’s next turn, unconcerned with the pebbles that bounced off the smooth cliff, then fell soundlessly into the depths of the divide. Corey never would have gotten away with tricking Braddock if it weren’t for Lorelei. Braddock sucked in his breath through his teeth. He didn’t want to believe she was involved, but her intention from the first night she’d come to his hotel room had been clear.
All he had to do was see the look on her face when he returned alive, and he would know the truth. God, he must be a fool, because he wanted to believe her innocent. His sweet Lorelei wouldn’t betray him. But he had seen people do worse for less, and Corey had a lot of gold on the line.
Why for a moment did Braddock think he could be like Jay?
The reins slipped in Braddock’s hand when Lucky tossed his head, sensing his rider’s unease. The sky had lightened to purple, and Braddock had to blink to orient himself. He couldn’t recall getting down the canyon or even saddling Lucky. By the lay of the land and the position of the chain of mountains at his back, he had traveled a couple of miles from the canyon’s entrance. He was heading back toward Jay’s house, moving in the right direction on instinct alone. Instinct served him better than his common sense. He longed for the time when his mind would go numb and that would be all he operated on. There were no messy feelings or moral dilemmas. He rode, ate, slept, and fornicated, all at his body’s urging. Nothing else was involved. His life was about survival, pure and simple.
Braddock picked up Lucky’s pace, following that rule of thumb. He wasn’t sure when he had last slept, but resting was the farthest thing from his mind. His body tensed as if he were getting ready to ride into battle. And that was just what it would be if he found Corey at Jay’s.
He realized he wouldn’t. Corey would be long gone. Braddock started scanning the desert floor for tracks. But who did he want to see more, Corey or Lorelei? Braddock didn’t like the answer. He wanted to see Lorelei. Something in him still believed in her. Some part of him that hung on like the needles of a cactus still believed she loved h
im—more than Corey, more than gold.
Lorelei could be believed in. She would probably be devastated to know that Corey had had the gold all this time. There was no way she could be a part of his scheme. Braddock started to breathe a little deeper, a little easier. The sun peeked across the dry horizon, lighting the red sand pink.
He would be at Jay’s tomorrow, holding Lorelei, wondering how he could ever think she could betray him.
The trampled sage caught his attention first. He swung from his horse. Two sets of hoof prints led from the direction of Jay’s house. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, sure he was overdue for sleep. The tracks were clear. Two sets of riders, and neither knew how to cover their tracks. His heart stopped and he hoped to God it would never beat again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Braddock hunkered down and watched Corey from between the manzanita’s dense branches. Sullivan sat on the ground, his knees curled to his chest. The smoke drifting over his head told Braddock he had just started a fire. Though the sun still hung high in the sky, he figured brother and sister would prepare an early dinner, then douse the fire once night hit. That was what he would have done if he were on the run.
After another glance around the clearing they had chosen for their camp, Braddock sucked a much needed breath through his burning lungs. He would be spared Lorelei’s presence for his confrontation with Corey. He’d rather face five armed men than one Lorelei Sullivan.
Braddock reholstered his pistol, unbuckled his scarred leather belt, and draped it over the thickest of the manzanita’s branches. The sturdy round shrub sagged in the middle but held the gun’s weight. Braddock rolled his shoulders and fisted his hands.
The risk involved in facing Corey unarmed was nothing in comparison to the satisfaction he’d gain in beating him with his fists.
Of course, Lorelei could show up cradling a rifle. This time, however, he welcomed it. He needed to witness her aiming a weapon at his heart. Then her betrayal would be brutal fact instead of a hard-to-swallow theory. Not that there was much room for doubt. She’d escaped with Corey the moment the boy left. And Braddock had actually asked her to wait for him.
